


Stranger in a Strange Land

by ehmazing



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, EdelbertTrickOrTreat, F/M, Human/Monster Romance, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27297940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehmazing/pseuds/ehmazing
Summary: Hubert von Vestra, cryptozoologist, is hired to take on a vexing case. But perhaps with the help of a fellow outsider, he might find the vampire he's looking for.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43
Collections: Edelbert Trick-or-Treat 2020





	Stranger in a Strange Land

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nebbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebbles/gifts).



> Happy Halloween, @thatnebbles!! I may or may not have read _Dracula_ earlier this year and did a huge gasp when I saw you desired some vampire!Edelgard/curious monster hunter!Hubert, and may or may not have been subsequently consumed with Victorian Gothic fumes. Hope you enjoy :)

Hubert’s first instinct was to refuse the offer. It was far out of his way—two-days’ journey from Enbarr by rail, then a long ride by coach to the village proper—and would require a long stay. Thanks to the mermaid rescue on Canal Street, his rent for the month was already covered, so he didn’t feel the usual press of desperation to accept any job he could get. Not to mention the subject was beyond his expertise.

But the longer he considered it, the more the temptation grew. Hubert found himself picking up the letter throughout the day and reading it again, mulling over the idea as he parsed the harried penmanship.

> _Dear Sir,_
> 
> _I was recommended your services by a mutual acquaintance with the Edmund family, who told me of the great favor you did for their cousin last summer. Experts in your field are hard to come by in our part of the country, and thus I write to you in hopes that you might come to Arundel County directly to see what can be done about the problem we face. All travel expenses would, of course, be paid, in addition to a generous reward sum should you manage to accomplish the task that has proven too much for myself and my neighbors._
> 
> _But I fear in my haste to post this letter, I’m getting too far ahead—allow me first to explain the situation:_
> 
> _For the last century, my village has been menaced by a vampire._

“B-But you’ve never worked with a vampire before!” Bernadetta protested, clutching a watering can to her chest. “I don’t know anyone who has, and I’ve been with the Society longer than you have. They’re so dangerous! No one dares to track them anymore.”

“Precisely,” Hubert explained as he moved through the greenhouse, pulling up weeds that had sprung between the wolfsbane. A tree sprite fluttered lazily around his head as he worked, its tiny feet tickling his scalp. He brushed it off carefully as he moved to check on the yarrow sprouts. “Who knows when I’ll get another chance to see one in the wild? We could finally update the Guidebook with a contemporary account.”

“You won’t be able to write anything for the Guidebook if you’re eaten!”

“I’ve managed to stay in one piece thus far, haven’t I? I doubt one vampire could give me more trouble than that troll in Prince Park, or that pack of hellhounds in Aegir County. There’s no need to worry.” He turned and gave Bernadetta his most dangerous grin. “Besides, if the vampire bit me, I’d simply bite back.”

She finally agreed to watch over his plants in his absence and feed the stray cat—at least, what they hoped was a cat—and Linhardt gave a yawning promise to check the mail. He also agreed to lend Hubert the most critical piece of equipment.

“But be careful with it,” he warned as Hubert carried the trunk down the stairs. “You can’t just buy a new silver net on the street corner.”

Hubert rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell the creature to thrash as gently as possible.”

He used the advance money to purchase his ticket. He locked up the flat and made sure the security sigils were all active and gleaming. And then Hubert called a hackney to take him and his luggage to the station, absolutely certain that he was as prepared as ever.

* * *

Remire Village sat in the foothills of the Oghma Mountains, so buried in the misty green woods that the coach driver had to point it out to him. It had the worn, melancholy look of the many towns that had once been stops along the pilgrims’ routes of the old days, the little pearls that strung the roads leading to the jeweled heart of Garreg Mach. Hubert could spy dusty souvenirs still arranged in shop windows, wooden statues of the saints with their carved hands raised in prayer. More than one bartender hurried out to sweep their stoops, probably hopeful that the coach bore them potential business. But Hubert bid the driver to continue on to the inn; his neck was still sore from the long train ride, and he could think of no greater comfort than a night in a real bed again.

Mrs. Kruger, the innkeeper, was a smiling woman with steel-colored hair. She insisted that the house boy take Hubert’s trunk upstairs for him—“My grandson Tom, and don’t worry about the weight of it, sir, he’s a strong lad!”—and that he have a cup of tea to settle in. Hubert suspected the latter was more of a ploy to pry more information out of him than a kindness, but he was tired and thirsty enough to accept.

The ground floor boasted a small dining room with a long table for guests to take their meals. Despite not caring much for tea, Hubert quickly finished two cups and a dry scone left from that morning. Mrs. Kruger seemed pleased by his ravenous appetite and had to be begged not to fix him a larger meal.

“What brings you all the way from Enbarr, Mr. Vestra?”

Hubert slid his card across the table. “My services have been engaged by one of your neighbors.”

 _“The Society for the Protection and Preservation of Extraordinary Flora and Fauna,”_ Mrs. Kruger read slowly. “Ah, you must be the fellow Sigmund mentioned! He told me last week that he contacted an expert on—“ she leaned across the table with a conspiratorial whisper, _“—pest control.”_

Hubert nodded. “Have you encountered this… _pest_ yourself, then, madame?”

“Oh yes.” With a smile, Mrs. Kruger reached up and tapped the side of her neck. “It bit me thirty years ago.”

She chuckled at Hubert’s stunned expression.

“I moved to Remire as a new bride. My husband’s father was still the innkeeper then, and I helped out in the kitchen. One night as I was taking the scraps out to feed the pigs, I felt the most peculiar sensation—as though someone was following me. But each time I turned around I was completely alone. I remember I dumped the bucket into the trough, and meant to walk back to the house…” She shook her head. “Then nothing. I woke to my husband shaking me, nearly in tears. They found me flat on the dirt with the pigs nosing my apron for crumbs. The blood was long dried.”

Hubert gaped. “So it’s true? It’s been hunting here for a century?”

Mrs. Kruger shrugged. “As far as we know; it could be longer than that. But it’s very regular. Appears once roughly every decade.” She clucked her tongue and pushed the remaining scone at him. “But Sigmund’s so worked up this time because he lost his prize ram. He found the poor thing drained dry at the beginning of the month, and apparently that was the final straw. He’s been crowing to the whole village that you’re the man who’s going to finally put the beast to the stake.”

“Hopefully not,” Hubert was quick to intercede. “Vampires are a very rare species. The Society’s first rule is to capture and release. We only resort to more drastic measures if there’s no hope of finding the creature a more suitable home.”

“Then you’ll have a tough job ahead of you, Mr. Vestra,” she said wryly. “This vampire’s called Remire home longer than any of us.”

When she finally led Hubert upstairs to his room, she gestured for him to be quiet as they passed a certain door in the hall.

“Our other guest,” she whispered. “Please try not to disturb her; she was very ill when she arrived, and has been sleeping fitfully ever since.”

Finally, Hubert was left alone in his room. He managed to summon the energy to dig his nightshirt out of the trunk and change into it before he embraced the small bed.

Before his eyes slipped shut, though, a faint memory made him jolt back up.

He went back to the trunk and dug until he unearthed the protective talisman: the Seal of Seiros, etched in silver. It was cold and heavy around his neck, but Hubert tucked it under his collar and fell back into bed, and then soon in a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

When he came downstairs for breakfast the following morning, the table was already occupied.

A woman was sitting with a teacup in one hand and a book in the other, as poised as a model in a tableau. She was dressed for half-mourning in a deep purple gown. The richness of the color only emphasized how pale the rest of her was; her cheeks had no blush, her smooth lips almost a faint blue. Her snow-white hair crowned her head in an elegant coil.

Remembering the warning about the ailing guest, Hubert tried to pass as unobtrusively as possible. But on the final step of the landing, the floorboard creaked under his foot. The woman turned her head in a quick, fluid motion, like a bird. Her violet eyes were even more striking than her gown.

“Good morning, Mr. Vestra!” Mrs. Kruger emerged from the kitchen with a steaming platter of tea. “I hope you slept well?”

“Just fine, madame.”

“I’m so glad to hear it!” She beamed down at the young woman. “Miss Hresvelg told me she got some much-needed rest as well, and—oh, silly me, where are my manners? You two haven’t even been introduced!”

Miss Edelgard von Hresvelg, hailing from Nuvelle. She set her teacup aside without even clinking the china before she rose from her chair to offer Hubert her hand. She had a surprisingly firm grip.

“Mr. Vestra,” she repeated after Mrs. Kruger. Her voice was as elegant and as frigid as the rest of her. “So you’re the monster hunter everyone’s been talking about.”

Hubert had a sinking feeling that he’d be correcting the whole village about that for the length of his stay. “A cryptonaturalist, miss, to be precise.”

Miss Hresvelg cocked her head slightly. “Oh? I’m afraid I’m not sure of the difference. The specimens in museums and laboratories—they were captured and killed by naturalists, were they not?”

“Well…yes, but for the cause of—”

“And naturalists prepare the skins as well, correct? And mount them behind glass?” Her smile neither reached her eyes nor showed any teeth. “Quite like a hunting trophy, isn’t it, Mr. Vestra?”

Hubert was saved by the noisy arrival of Tom, who called to his grandmother that the morning’s eggs were all collected and washed. Mrs. Kruger, clearly sensing the need to keep an eye on the tension between her only guests, bustled away with promises that breakfast would be served very soon. But Miss Hresvelg seemed content that her point had been made. She returned to her book with no further comments. Hubert took a seat at the far end of the table, feeling like a mouse who’d been batted around but deemed not exciting enough to chase.

When breakfast arrived, he took care not to eat too quickly and seem eager to escape. He needn’t have worried, though, for by the time he finished, Miss Hresvelg was still so transfixed by the book that she hadn’t even picked up her fork. No matter—even if intended as a snub, a breakfast unburdened by small talk suited Hubert just fine.

He stiffly wished her a good day as he took his leave. Her striking eyes left the page to give him one more cold glance.

“Good day, sir,” she said. “And happy hunting.”

* * *

Sigmund von Arundel was as proud of his old name as he was of his farmland, and considered the attacks on his flock an insult to both.

“The damned thing’s plagued my father, his father, his father’s father, the whole way back,” he grumbled to Hubert as he led him into the cold cellar. “I’ve had five stablehands bitten over the years, once even my farrier! That big fellow could hold a wild stallion steady, and he was bedridden for a week! I don’t care what you do with it, Mr. Vestra, so long as you chase it off my property for good.”

The prize ram was just one of a half-dozen sheep that’d met their end over the last month. Hubert bent over the victims to examine the injuries: broken necks and the telltale twin punctures in the throat. The sheep were as dry and wrinkled as mummies. The creature had been very hungry indeed.

“They were killed before they were drained,” Hubert noted as he measured and then sketched the round marks. “It has more dexterity than I expected, which might affect the final price of this job.”

Arundel gawked. “How can you tell?”

“It knew that it’s easier to kill the animal first rather than subdue it and drain at the same time. The necks were snapped with a twist, not from the bite pressure, so it’s got deft hands. And bluntly put, sir, it’s easier to sink your teeth into a sheep when you can have a good look at it, rather than charge in the dark and come away with a mouthful of wool.” Finished with his notes, Hubert stood back up. “You mentioned human victims. Has anyone ever been fully drained?”

“Not recently, but it’s happened. I think the last person killed in the village was about forty years ago.”

“And outside the village?”

“Well that’s the mystery, isn’t it? We don’t know how far a range it has.” Arundel shuddered. “You hear all kinds of grisly stories, sir, about folks who take the mountain roads alone. Bandit bodies found drier than husks, travelers who stumble into taverns only half-alive and still bleeding. I’ve tried to drum up a hunting party before to see if we could spook it out ourselves, but to no avail. Folks here have just accepted it’s a natural hazard of the land, like a bear that rampages after years of slumber.” He puffed out his chest as he gestured for Hubert to follow him up the cellar stairs. “But thanks to you, we’ll finally be rid of the superstition. I’ll be able to destroy the nest at Wilhelm Hall once and for all.”

Hubert stopped with his foot on the stair. “Wilhelm Hall?”

* * *

It sat on the very edge of Arundel’s property, past the end of the broad, open fields and into the border of tangled woods. A leap over a cold mountain stream, a steep hike up a twisting hill, and a difficult squeeze through the brush brought Hubert to the abandoned manor.

Half the stone was dingy from a lifetime of rain, and the other half was swallowed by browning ivy. Panes of shattered glass clung to their window frames like loose teeth in a beaten mouth. It was impossible to tell if the front door had once been smashed through and never pieced back together, or if it had rotted away until it simply fell into splinters. Weeds had chewed through the paved carriage drive until it looked more like a meadow than a road.

“Supposedly it was a gift to one of the consorts of Wilhelm IV, and then stayed within the royal family,” Arundel had told him. “Expanded and rebuilt after a few fires, of course, like all those old lodges were, but no one’s lived in it for centuries. My father always wanted to tear it down and rebuild a holiday home or resort on the land, but we’ve never been able to touch it.”

“Why not?”

Arundel had snorted. “Where do you think that fellow died forty years ago? The vampire has nested in this old ruin for as long as it’s sat on my family’s land, Mr. Vestra. No one who’s ever dared to go in after sundown has come back out.”

In the bright daylight, Hubert surveyed the wreckage of the old house. With a grunt, he adjusted his heavy satchel over his shoulder, rattling the silver net inside, and made his way to the front door.

The inside of Wilhelm Hall hadn’t fared much better. A gaping hole in the roof made for a makeshift skylight, but Hubert still found it difficult to see clearly in the shadows. The carpets of the main hall were dotted with moss and smelled heavily of mildew. A nest of wrens erupted in cries when they spotted him passing under their home in the skeletal chandelier. His eyes and nose were assaulted by the thick blankets of dust and dirt that he disturbed with every step; he had to stop more than once to sneeze.

Following Arundel’s instructions, he made his way carefully through the first floor. The kitchen sat in the back of the house, where servants could’ve passed through unseen. The cellar door hinges remained, but the door did not.

When Hubert looked down, all he could see were bones.

As he set up the net, Hubert kept himself calm with facts. Even if the vampire was awoken by the sound of the clinking silver chains, it would be too weak in the daylight to emerge. Between its instincts to fight, flee, or hide, surely a creature with enough intelligence to avoid capture for a century would know it was best to stay hidden in its nest for now.

When he was finished, Hubert had raised the net nearly flush against the ceiling, fastened with chains at all four corners. By nightfall, it would be hidden by the dark, and the vampire would be too consumed with hunger to examine its surroundings when it emerged. A spring trap at the threshold would bring the net crashing down, trapping the vampire until Hubert could return the following morning. Easy and non-lethal.

He left Wilhelm Hall with confidence, despite the cobwebs in his hair.

* * *

By the time he returned to Remire, it was already very late in the afternoon. Hubert decided to return to the inn to clean up before dinner; the troop through the fields, the woods, and the filthy house had done a number on his clothes and boots. He tread carefully past Miss Hresvelg’s closed door on the way to the washroom.

While he shaved, a strange feeling came over him, like a chill down his spine. Hubert glanced in the mirror and saw that her door was open just a crack. But when he turned around to check, it was shut once more.

 _You’re nervous because she intimidates you,_ Hubert told himself. _Not many people do._ He rinsed his razor and put it out of his mind.

He avoided looking at Miss Hresvelg at dinner until it was impossible not to. She’d exchanged her plum day gown for a dinner dress in funeral black. Though she was still pale, she looked much better than she had that morning; there was more of a healthy glow to her face, more energy in her movements. Young Tom Kruger blushed scarlet when she thanked him for pulling out her chair.

“Well, Mr. Vestra?” she addressed him over the soup course. “When can we expect to see the head of your vampire stuffed and mounted at the Imperial Fair?”

Hubert forced a polite smile. “These things do take time, miss. The biggest fish rarely bite on the first lure.”

Her smile was close-lipped and fleeting. “I hope your master lure isn’t your own neck, then.”

Rather than wait for her next barb, Hubert decided to take the reins of the conversation: “Since you know the reason for my visit, miss, might I ask what brings you to Remire?”

“I have business in the county. A matter concerning my father’s estate.”

Ah. That answered who she was in mourning for. "My condolences,” he offered. “It must be a great loss.”

But Miss Hresvelg just nodded, businesslike. “Thank you, but it’s alright. He’s been dead many years now.”

Hubert couldn’t think of how to continue the conversation beyond that, and so he didn’t. They finished dinner as silently as breakfast, even though Miss Hresvelg didn't seem to eat very much at all. Mrs. Kruger remarked as much with dismay when she came to collect their plates.

“It was delicious, madame, I assure you,” Miss Hresvelg said with kindness, “but as I’ve said before, I have a very delicate constitution. One more bite would overtax my stomach, I’m afraid.”

“Poor dear,” Mrs. Kruger sighed. “But don’t be too shy if you find yourself hungry later—I can fix whatever you’d like!”

Miss Hresvelg chuckled. “I promise that if the urge strikes, I’ll come and find you.”

After dinner, Hubert was content to sit in the drawing room and log his observations and notes from the day. Mrs. Kruger sat down with a large basket of wool to needlepoint, while Miss Hresvelg was absorbed by yet another large book. When the clock chimed ten, she marked her page and stretched in her chair.

“My legs feel so stiff,” she sighed to Mrs. Kruger. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

Mrs. Kruger clucked her tongue. “Again? Miss, this may be a small town, but I don’t like the idea of a lady going out alone. Vampires aren’t the only things that prowl late at night. Won’t you let me call for Tom, and he can escort you?”

“I couldn’t trouble your grandson again,” Miss Hresvelg protested. “And I’ll stick to Main Street, of course. The lamps are lit. I’ll be back within a half-hour.”

“Then I could go with you instead. We could take a shorter route and perhaps call on my friend—”

“Madame, there’s no need to tax yourself just for my sake—”

Hubert tried his best to shut out the argument, but Miss Hresvelg had a firm, commanding tone that was hard to ignore. He grew frustrated; with all the noise, he’d lost track of what he meant to write next. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, but after ten minutes passed with no resolution, he finally set his pen down and turned in his chair.

 _“Ladies,”_ he said loudly. “Let us put the matter to rest. If Miss Hresvelg is determined to go out, _I_ will escort her.”

Mrs. Kruger looked at him with relief. But Miss Hresvelg wore an expression of undisguised contempt. Hubert half-expected her to announce she’d changed her mind, but she stood.

“Very well, sir,” she said. “Then let’s get our coats and go directly.” With a swish of her skirts, she marched from the room with more speed than he’d seen from her all day.

Hubert had no choice but to fall behind.

* * *

The walk did not begin pleasantly.

For a woman of small stature, Miss Hresvelg had a very quick stride. It took Hubert a few streets to learn how to match her, for his companion seemed as determined to outpace him as he was not to be outpaced. Based on her earlier comments about her health, he worried at first that such exercise might be dangerous, but those worries soon abated. Despite the cold autumn night, Miss Hresvelg appeared neither winded nor flushed. She never hunched against the wind. At one point, she glanced over at him and smirked.

“You look tired, Mr. Vestra. Do you need to stop and rest?”

Hubert tried not to sound out-of-breath. “Not at all. I’m used to walking in a city much larger than this.”

“Ah, that’s right, you’re an Enbarr man. One village road must be trivial compared to hiking through tourists packed in Lycaon's Square.”

The reference surprised him. “You’ve been to Enbarr?”

“I lived there for a time when I was young. But my family’s no longer in the area, so I haven’t been back in a while. I find I have little incentive to visit a place if I have nowhere to stay.”

Hubert snorted. “Enbarr _does_ have inns too, Miss Hresvelg.”

“Inns that harbor more rats than guests, unless you can afford a room on Palace Hill,” she countered. “I’d prefer an invitation from someone I know.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

He also couldn’t deny that—in spite of the chill and Miss Hresvelg’s chillier demeanor—it was pleasant to take a walk at this time of night. The old houses of Remire were transformed somehow, their dull paint stripped away by the darkness, their chipped roofs newly angular and sharp. Windows glowed softly as their residents relaxed by candlelight, almost ready to retire to their beds. Instead of looking left behind by time, night had blanketed the village in a calm that transcended the centuries. The air smelled of the old forest pines; Hubert inhaled deeply and felt at peace.

Miss Hresvelg stopped so suddenly that he almost walked right past her.

“Oh dear,” she lamented. “You’re a long way from home, little one.”

He followed her gaze upward. A will-o’-the-wisp was floating in the air next to the streetlamp. It kept bumping against the glass like a confused moth. Hubert guessed that it mistook the reflection of the kerosene flame for one of its fellows. If it stayed there till morning, it would be scorched to death by the sun.

“Wait here,” he told Miss Hresvelg. He retraced their path back up the street, surveying the alleys and gutters until he caught sight of a large broken branch. By tying his scarf to the end, it made a good enough net for the job.

It took a few tries, but finally he caught the wisp. He pinched the scarf together to keep it trapped as it buzzed unhappily, glowing through the fabric like a fist-sized firefly.

“Now what?” Miss Hresvelg crossed her arms. “Did you bring a glass jar and forceps with you?”

He ignored the jab and merely inclined his head, a mute instruction for her to follow.

As they wove in a new path through the village, he began to recite: “A kelpie. A nest of cockatrices. Two hippogriffs. And a four-headed guardian dog.” At her raised eyebrow, he continued, “Those are all of the creatures I’ve killed since I began my career.

“But before you say anything, miss, let me tell you that the kelpie had been caught in a storm and swept by a river current down into the Grand Canal. It was choking on the saltwater for at least a month before it caught three little girls under a bridge and drowned them. It was too sick to even eat them, and by the time I tracked it down, it was half-dead already. At least the families got a bit of closure.

“The cockatrices had nested in a boarding house attic. The tenants complained to the landlord for months to no avail. It took a chimney sweep’s death to have enough sway to call the city inspectors, who then contacted me. There was a chance that one might escape if I tried to catch them, and start the whole mess over again in some other tenement. I decided the safest option for the neighborhood was to smoke out the attic and smash the eggs.

“The hippogriffs were owned by a cabbie trying to stand out from the competition. He beat them just as badly as he did his horses. One had a broken leg and had to be put down in the stable. The other I tried to pass to a colleague with a farm in Aegir County, but it was too hostile to be transported that far. I still think that death was kinder than the life it had before.

“And finally, the four-headed dog came from a sideshow exhibit. The signs of inbreeding were quite clear, as was the law against owning it. It was never going to last long, so I bought it from the manager for far too high a price. The dog lived out his final years at the Society meeting hall in a plush bed by a warm fire. We keep his portrait on the mantle to this day.”

“What a compassionate angel of death you make,” Miss Hresvelg scoffed. “So?”

They’d reached the edge of the town, where the road began to wind back into the forest. Hubert carefully released the scarf. The will-o’-the-wisp gave one more angry buzz as it flew out, darting into the safety of the trees.

“So if you’re determined to dislike me, go ahead,” he answered. “I don’t really care whether I make a good impression on people. But I’d rather be hated for my actual faults than for your misconception that because I make a living tracking monsters, I don’t care for their well-being.”

He watched the wisp until its blue light vanished into the shadows. And then with a curt, “After you,” he let Miss Hresvelg take charge of deciding which way to take home.

* * *

The net was still in place when Hubert checked the following morning, and the morning after that. As he searched for any other signs of the vampire’s presence, he narrowly avoided losing a finger to a very grumpy volpertiger in the butler’s pantry and had to duck from a swarm of pixies that were determined to steal his hair. After his sprint down the hill to escape, he wound up returning to the village much earlier than he expected.

Back at the inn, he had just started untying his boots when he looked up and found Miss Hresvelg standing at his open door. He jumped—he could’ve sworn he’d closed it.

“Have tea with me,” she said, and didn’t look like she’d accept no for an answer.

They chose a café near the inn, which gave him some relief—for by daylight, Miss Hresvelg looked just as fragile as she had when they’d met. She carried a parasol overhead even though the sun wasn’t very bright, and walked so slowly that Hubert almost offered her his arm to lean on. It was a world of difference from her liveliness in the evening. Knowing this change was the work of her mysterious illness, Hubert found his prior irritation with her was slowly consumed by pity and guilt.

At the table, she insisted that he have whatever lunch suited him but ordered only hot water with lemon for herself.

“People are too attached to their manners sometimes,” she sighed. “They insist on feeding me no matter how much I protest that I cannot eat.”

“I can sympathize,” Hubert said, remembering Mrs. Kruger’s grandmotherly fussing.

Miss Hresvelg chuckled, glancing him over. “I’m not surprised, sir. You’d make a very lean meal.”

As he ate, Hubert found it was very disconcerting to be the sole object of her attention. Miss Hresvelg had a gaze that made him feel as pinned as a butterfly under glass. He was so concentrated on acting unaffected by it that he had to ask her to repeat herself when she next spoke.

“I said I owe you an apology.”

Huber’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

“I admit that I judged you based on your profession, rather than your character,” she continued, idly stirring her cup. “I’m rather disappointed by my own hypocrisy; after all, you can’t say that a woodsman hates all forests just because his living requires him to fell a tree. And as you pointed out, there are many situations in which monstrous creatures may be too violent to safely live in human habitats. I knew this, and yet I still behaved rudely.” She set her spoon aside and offered her hand. “So I apologize, Mr. Vestra. I hope we can put our differences aside.”

The apology was unexpected, but he could see a glint of earnestness in her eyes. So Hubert reached across the table and shook her hand to accept.

“Thank you.” Her smile still wasn’t full, but it was softer. “Now, please tell me everything you know about vampires.”

This conversation was taking so many turns that Hubert felt dizzy.

“Everything? Miss, I’m hardly an expert,” he protested. “They’re so seldom found in the wild that the volume of research is not very thorough, but there are books that I could recommend—”

“Then tell me what the books say. You’re enough of an expert to have come here, aren’t you? Surely you have _some_ degree of confidence that you’ll be able to catch one.” She propped her elbow on the table and leaned her chin against her hand; her gaze was practically magnetic.

“Well…if you insist,” he conceded, and began to explain.

Vampires were nocturnal animals. By night they hunted and by day they sought shelter in nests and lairs. They fed on blood, but not flesh—and not solely on human blood, but seemed to prefer it if given the choice between prey. Their bite contained a mild numbing venom that made it easier for the creature to feast on docile victims. That venom also carried the dangerous consequence of infection; it was theorized that vampires did not reproduce sexually, but created more of their kind when victims were exposed to many doses of venom over a period of time.

“Never proven, of course,” Hubert noted, “but it would explain why they haven’t overtaken every other species on the planet. Too many apex predators upset ecological balance, so evolution must have adapted a means to let them feed on many victims but not make each one a vampire as well.”

He blushed when Miss Hresvelg remarked, “My, you’re very knowledgable! Was all this theory learned from self-study?”

“I attended Enbarr University,” he mumbled, and did not discuss it further.

But Miss Hresvelg’s demeanor began to shift from interest to incredulity when he delved into the more practical notes from the Guidebook. She raised her eyebrows at the lack of reflection in mirrors. She scrunched her nose at the aversion to garlic. When Hubert detailed the near-deadly effect of holy symbols, she suppressed an audible snort.

“If vampires are truly as rare as you say, then I’d love to know how this research was achieved,” she joked. “Who in your society was bringing mirrors in their field kit and trying to feed a deadly predator garlic? How do you know if any of this is true?”

“There are few things in science that we ever know are ‘true,’” Hubert argued. “Some of these reports may be questionable or outdated, but at least they’ve given me an idea of what to expect.”

She looked at him with confusion. “And what _do_ you expect?”

It took a moment for Hubert to dig _The Guidebook to Unusual Beasts of Fódlan_ out of his satchel. He flipped quickly through the pages—many covered in more of his own annotations than printed text—to find the entry he’d marked before embarking on this job. He pushed it across the table.

The illustration was of a massive, hulking creature, its winged arms raised over its head, its jaws open in a shriek. Half-bat, half-man, it had leathery arms and spindly legs. A thick ruff of fur crowned the neck and upper chest. The description noted that based on standard physics, the vampire’s wingspan would need to be at least twenty feet across in order for it to be able to fly like rumors said.

Miss Hresvelg suddenly clapped her hands over her mouth. She began shaking, leaning over the table, her shoulders trembling. Hubert grew concerned—was her illness something in the lungs, making her short of breath?—before a strangled sound proved she was, in fact, laughing.

“If that’s the vampire you’re after, Mr. Vestra,” she wheezed out, “then I’m very worried for you.”

“I can handle myself, miss,” Hubert grunted. “I’ve caught bigger creatures before.”

“I’m sure you have,” she said, and then doubled over with giggles again. “Sorry, sorry—it’s the furry neck that’s really tickling me.”

Hubert grumbled, but it was only for show—for he found a laughing, joking Miss Hresvelg was much more preferable to a silent, fuming one. After she finished mocking the defenseless illustration, she had further questions about his encounters, and he obliged in answering them. They passed the rest of the luncheon in easy conversation, and when they left the café, Hubert found he had no qualms at all about offering her his arm this time.

* * *

There was little movement at Wilhelm Hall for the rest of the week. Hubert dutifully checked the trap and searched the house for signs of life. There were some strange footprints he found in the mud outside once, but they belonged to something that walked on all four legs, and he was confident that there was enough evidence and eyewitness accounts that the real vampire would be bipedal.

There were also no further attacks in Remire, which was strange. Prior to his arrival, the villagers had been losing one or two livestock every few days. He wondered if trespassing at its nest had alerted the vampire that danger was moving in, and perhaps it had expanded its hunting range further, or moved on. Or perhaps it had the habits of a bear, and had finished its autumn feast in preparation for its next long hibernation.

“That would explain why it appears so infrequently, yet its timing is so regular,” he mused to Miss Hresvelg. Since their reconciliation, he’d been escorting her on her nightly walks. He’d worried at first that she would find him dull company, but she always seemed genuinely eager to hear more about the vampire and monster research. He admired her quick mind and the way that she always seemed to think of solutions that he would never have considered on his own.

“Or it could be migratory,” she proposed. “Perhaps it travels the same route and returns to this spot during every cycle.”

“Ten years is a rather long cycle. It would have to travel around the length of the continent to take so long.”

Miss Hresvelg shrugged. “Just a guess. It could take the train.”

Hubert laughed. “What, hanging from the ceiling? It would have to tuck its wings in to walk down the aisles, or it wouldn’t fit.”

“Don’t be dense, Mr. Vestra.” She gave him a joking scowl. “Obviously it rides first class.”

But now that they were on good terms, Hubert felt even sorrier for her as Miss Hresvelg’s health began to decline again. She was always at her weakest in the mornings, but as days went on, she seemed more and more fatigued all day. On his eighth day in Remire Village, Hubert was the only one at the breakfast table.

“I brought her a tray, but she was still fast asleep,” Mrs. Kruger told him. “Poor dear…”

After checking Wilhelm Hall and noting some possible marking scratches on the bannisters, Hubert took lunch alone. It felt solemn to go around the village without company now. After another solitary dinner, he made up his mind to go upstairs and knock on his neighbor’s door. A muffled voice bid him enter.

Miss Hresvelg was sitting upright in bed, pillows stacked behind her. She had one of her massive books on her lap—Hubert could make out something about inheritance law on the cover—and her hair was still braided for sleep. A bowl of vegetable soup sat on a tray on the nightstand, still steaming.

“Don’t tell me,” she sighed. “Mrs. Kruger came to bring the meal, and now you’ve come to hover until I eat it?”

Hubert put his hand over his chest in feigned offense. “Are you accusing me of having ulterior motives in seeing you, miss?”

“There aren’t many other motives to visit a lady’s bedroom, sir,” she volleyed back. “Though you don’t seem to be as lovestruck as Tom.”

Though her tone was teasing, the implications struck Hubert fast and hard, his face flushing. Miss Hresvelg was wearing a dressing robe beneath her quilt, but he could still see an exposed sliver of her neck above her nightshift collar. A few pieces of her hair had come loose around her face, making the angles of her cheeks look softer than usual. He’d known she was very pretty from their first meeting, of course—but he’d never had to confront the fact so directly.

“Could I ask a favor?” Miss Hresvelg’s voice shook him out of his thoughts. “Could I borrow one of your books? I don’t think I’m up to walking tonight, and I’m getting a little tired of legal jargon.”

Hubert agreed, relieved for the excuse to leave her doorway. He selected one of his oldest guides; she was always entertained by the most laughably outdated reports.

“You may add any corrections you wish,” he told her when handing it over. Her fingers were cool when they brushed against his; he was relieved that she wasn’t feverish. “I think you’ll really enjoy the entry for gargoyles.”

She thanked him with one of her little smiles. Hubert left before he could turn too pink.

* * *

That night, Hubert had a strange dream.

He dreamed that he was still in bed, warm beneath the blankets. The door was closed, but enough moonlight escaped through the crack in the curtains to let him see the shapes of his surroundings in the dark.

A white figure stood at the foot of his bed.

Hubert stared at it, and it stared back. He couldn’t make out its face, but gradually he discerned that it was a woman: the alabaster column of her body formed by her pooling hair and long nightdress. In the dream, this did not feel alarming. In fact, Hubert was quite calm in her presence. It seemed only natural for a strange white woman to be in his locked room in the dead of night, holding vigil as he slept.

He felt calmer still as she took one step toward him, then another. He had the urge to sit up and greet her politely. To let her sit on the edge of the bed. Let her reach out to stroke the edge of his jaw and then down his neck. Let her lean in, mouth open, and then— _jump back with a hiss as the St. Seiros medal he wore suddenly grew coal-hot—_

“Mr. Vestra!”

Hubert awoke with a start. His room was morning-bright and empty. Someone was pounding at the door.

He managed to get up and throw on his dressing robe without tripping, and flung open the door to find Mrs. Kruger there, panting with exertion.

“Mr. Vestra, you have to come quickly!” she cried. “Someone’s been bitten!”

* * *

Because the whole of Remire knew Hubert was there, they’d carried the victim to the inn. Everyone crowded around the bed in the free guest room Mrs. Kruger had given them for the purpose, talking over each other. When Hubert commanded them all to stand back, they fell into whispers instead.

“Markus Kreiner, sir,” someone called out. “He’s a bricklayer, lives on the edge of the village.”

The doctor had already cleaned and bound Mr. Kreiner’s neck. Hubert was careful as he lifted the edge of the bandage. The puncture marks were still pink and fresh, in contrast to Kreiner’s pale countenance. He was awake, but hardly coherent.

“Who found him?” Hubert asked the crowd, and another man stepped forward.

“I’m his neighbor, sir. My daughter went out to feed the hens this morning and came running inside screaming that Markus was dead in his doorway. I rushed over myself. His door was open, sure ‘nuff, and he was sprawled just inside. I had my girl run for the doctor. Then we brought him straight here.”

“Good,” Hubert commended him. “You may have saved this man’s life. But I won’t be able to learn anything more until he can speak to me. Return to your homes. I assure you that you’ll be in no danger in the daylight.”

As he shuffled the crowd out of the room, the creak of another door opening made Hubert turn his head. The commotion had awakened Miss Hresvelg. She stood in her door, bleary-eyed, clutching her dressing gown over her front. More hair had escaped from her braid, spilling in white waves over her shoulders.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“There’s been a severe attack,” he informed her. “My trap must have failed. I have to go to its nest and see what happened.”

“Go to its nest? Right now?” She looked at him incredulously. “Mr. Vestra, are you mad?”

“It’s just eaten very well, so I’m in little danger. Right now it should be sleeping the day away, exhausted from the hunt. I won’t provoke it, miss, but in light of this development I have to examine Wilhelm Hall thoroughly.”

“No!” she argued. “You can’t go alone! What if you’re hurt and can’t call for help?”

“It’s a risk that I am willing—”

“Well I’m not.” Her voice had taken on that commanding tone again. “You will not set foot in that house by yourself. I’m coming with you.”

“You are not,” Hubert argued. “You’re _ill.”_

But she only said, “Give me fifteen minutes to change, and I’ll meet you downstairs,” before shutting the door, and although he was fuming with anger, Hubert knew, somehow, that she’d be at his side whether he liked it or not.

* * *

In the dusty foyer of Wilhelm Hall, Hubert turned and found himself alone.

“Well?” he waved to Miss Hresvelg with an exaggerated sweep of his arm, like a butler. “You wanted to come in so badly, so come in.”

She glared at him, but finally stepped over the threshold. “I was assessing the structure. I feel like we’re in more danger of being crushed by a ceiling beam or loose tile than of being bitten.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be wary, though,” he warned. “Stay close.”

Frustratingly, Miss Hresvelg had made a remarkable recovery from yesterday’s fatigue. She followed him easily through the house, ducking under cobwebs and squeezing around sunken corners. She even had a bit of color in her cheeks for once. Hubert might have felt more glad if her good health didn’t make her twice as headstrong as usual. It wasn’t long before she was wandering from his side to examine whatever caught her interest.

“Are you quite sure this is a vampire’s nest?” She frowned as she dipped her finger inside a dust-clogged vase. “Wouldn’t it choke to death on this stuffy air?”

“Mr. Arundel gave me fifty years of accounts from just his own family. And I’ve just examined last night’s victim: the wound was the bite of a blood-drinker, for certain.”

“But vampires aren’t the only creatures that drink blood,” she reminded him. “Kappas, strigoi, rakshashas—I heard that long ago, there was even a kulmking in this forest.”

Hubert scoffed, “I think you read too much of my book last night, Miss Hresvelg. But if you spot a kulmking in here, please let me know. I’d love to discover how such a legendary forest demon could squeeze through a man’s front door without knocking it from the hinges.”

“Says the man who doesn’t even know if vampires have reflections,” she grumbled, flicking a spider off the peeling wall.

The trap was undisturbed. Hubert examined the kitchen from top to bottom, but could find no sure signs of movement. He came to a reluctant conclusion that either the vampire had sensed the danger here, or this wasn’t the favored part of the nest. He took down the net and piled it back into its trunk, intending to keep it stowed here until he could find a more suitable location to set it again.

By the time he finished, Miss Hresvelg had—of course—wandered off again. Hubert retraced their steps, but couldn’t find her. Even with the sun streaming through the broken roof, he still felt his palms clam up as he looked through the house. There was an unsettling feeling in his stomach, more powerful than any other he’d gotten since he began the job. It was as if the house were especially mad today that he was trespassing.

As he searched, he came upon a hallway he hadn’t walked through during his previous visits: a portrait gallery, lined with framed paintings on each side. The canvases were filthy with grime, and many had noticeable holes from paint that had chipped away over the centuries.

Hubert took out his handkerchief and made a quick pass over the nearest one. A dark-haired man was soon glaring down at him. Ruby earrings dangled from his ears and a starched ruff fanned around his neck. Hubert guessed by his clothes that the subject had been painted at least two or three hundred years ago. He turned to the next, intending to discover who the man’s neighbor was.

_“Ow! Get off!”_

Hubert ran through the mansion so fast that he almost tumbled headfirst down the stairs. He grabbed the first weapon he could find—the chewed-off leg of a toppled chair—and followed Miss Hresvelg’s shouts until he reached the ruined shell of a sitting room.

Pixies. The swarm was so thick that he could only see Miss Hresvelg from the waist down.

“Hold on!” he shouted. One of the lamps on the wall was shattered. Hubert flinched as the broken glass scraped his hand, but sure enough there was still a little pool of oil inside. He coated the end of the leg as well as he could, and then hissed out a fire spell.

The smell of the smoke was horrible. As soon as Hubert came near, the pixies began to retreat, snapping and hissing as they flitted away. He kept waving the burning wood until the swarm abated, more occupied with escaping the smoke than defending their hive. Finally he was close enough to Miss Hresvelg to snatch her arm and tug her to him, swatting the few tiny creatures that still attempted to bite her on their way out.

“What did I say about staying close?” he snapped as he threw down the torch to stamp the fire out. “I thought I’d find you bleeding out!”

Miss Hresvelg huffed back, “I wasn’t lost, I knew where you were—”

“And look at you!” Hubert put a hand on her jaw to hold her head steady and examine her face. “That breed’s known to scratch out eyes! You’re lucky you still have most of your hair on your head!”

Tiny pink marks from the pixies’ needle-thin claws littered her cheeks, but he was grateful that none seemed deep enough to bleed. Her hair was a wreck, though; Hubert had to keep moving pieces aside to look for other scratches on her scalp.

“Are you quite finished preening me?” Miss Hresvelg ground out. Her cheeks had that barest hint of color again. And only then did Hubert realize he was still holding an unmarried lady improperly, embarrassingly close. He took a large step backward—almost tripping over the smoldering chair leg.

“We should leave anyway,” he grumbled. “If we didn’t disturb the vampire before, we definitely have now.” His pulse was still loud enough that he was spared from hearing whatever scathing remark she gave in return as he walked to the door.

As they hiked back down to Arundel’s property, exhausted and still dust-itchy, Hubert noticed that instead of being angry like he expected, Miss Hresvelg actually seemed rather sad. She glanced over her shoulder more than once as Wilhelm Hall was swallowed by the trees.

“Alright, miss?” he tentatively offered.

She shrugged. “As alright as I can be, after a thousand nasty little purple things tried to shred me to pulp.” After a long moment of silence, she said, “It feels lonely, that house. It must have been a very grand place once. Filled with lots of people, lots of life.”

“Mr. Arundel does want to renovate it,” he told her, but she scoffed.

“Yes, I’m sure he does. Wire it up with electricity, put in proper pipes. It would make a lovely hotel, certainly, but it wouldn’t be the home it once was.”

Hubert couldn’t argue with that. So he didn’t argue anymore.

* * *

After the day’s adventure, Hubert was too tired to take another lap around the village after dinner, so he convinced Miss Hresvelg to play chess with him instead. She was just as vicious at the game as he expected, which wasn’t a problem; Hubert found that the threat of losing made his thoughts sharper than a winning streak did. After Miss Hresvelg triumphantly claimed his queen for the third game in a row, an idea came to him.

“Why don’t you come back to Wilhelm Hall with me,” he proposed, “and we can clean it up?”

She frowned. “Why? Arundel’s going to tear it down anyway.”

“Perhaps. But perhaps he may be more willing to preserve the original structure if he could walk around and assess it without a matagot biting at his ankles.”

Miss Hresvelg hummed in thought, fiddling with his chess piece in her hand. “I don’t know… Humans abandoned it, after all. Why should the monsters be punished for moving into an empty house?”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “But all the same, I don’t think it’s good to have a den of many of the region’s deadly species so close to a local village. What will become of that house in another hundred years? The railroads expand every year; the Empire grows more connected, more populous. Remire won’t be isolated forever.” He drummed his fingers against his knee. “I’d rather shoo them away gently now, so that someone else doesn’t evict them more violently later.”

She looked at him with that fierce stare. “Including the vampire?”

“If the vampire could talk, miss, I would gladly take it to tea and explain the situation, and see if a mutually-beneficial compromise could be arranged.” Hubert gave her a small smile. “But I still have to find it first. Maybe with you there, I’ll have more luck—you seemed to be quite the magnet for pixies, so maybe your powers will lure the vampire too.”

Miss Hresvelg huffed, and then promptly captured his bishop. “I’ll think on it.”

* * *

That night, Hubert dreamed of the woman in white again. At first he felt leery of her presence, remembering her strange reaction to his medal, but as soon as she approached all his fears abated. She sat at his bedside again, and he drank in the blanketing calm that radiated from her presence.

Her touch was cool as she picked up his hand, turning his wrist to face upward. He could feel her breath against his skin as she bent over it, breathing deeply as though she were inhaling his scent. Her lips brushed over the faint blue veins. Something sharper brushed after.

But then she looked at his palm and stopped.

 _ **You’ve cut your hand.**_ Hubert couldn’t see her mouth move, yet heard her voice clear as day. He nodded in confirmation. _**How?**_

“A broken lamp,” he told her. “I needed the oil to make smoke. My friend was in danger.”

The dream woman was silent for a long moment, still holding his arm in her small, cold hands. Finally, she sighed and released him.

 _ **Go back to sleep, Mr. Vestra,**_ she ordered, and Hubert found it all-too-easy to obey.

In the morning, his room was empty again, and he had no explanation for how the cuts on his palm had healed completely.

* * *

Miss Hresvelg was not an early riser. Hubert reminded himself to be patient, to be careful not to push her too hard, but though she scowled at the sun from under her parasol and clung to his arm for support, she still accompanied him to Wilhelm Hall every day.

“I’m _fine,”_ she’d gripe as he pointed out where she should watch for thick tree roots. “I’m just not a morning person.”

It was slow-going work. Many of the mansion’s residents were not eager to be roused from their burrows in the rotting velvet couches, nor chased from under caved-in beds with a broom. They had a very unpleasant time with the vodnik who’d taken up residence in the garden fountain; Hubert had to sit in front of the inn’s kitchen fire for an hour before he was warm and dry enough to stop his teeth from chattering. Miss Hresvelg almost fell through the hole-filled roof when they dealt with the gargoyles in the chimney.

It was slow-going, hair-raising work, but it was also the most fun Hubert had had on the job in years. Miss Hresvelg actually applauded when he finally snatched up the basilisk that had evaded them for hours in the mirrored ballroom, and Hubert felt proud enough and silly enough to bow.

“Now our guests will be able to dance with their eyes open,” he joked as he tied the cloth bag shut. Setting the captured basilisk aside, he offered his hand. “Will the lady waltz?”

To his surprise, Miss Hresvelg looked nervous.

“I-I haven’t danced in a very long time, sir,” she said. “I don’t think I know how.”

“The waltz? Well, anyone can waltz, it’s just three steps,” Hubert insisted. “Even if I’m a poor teacher, I’m sure you’ll be a fast learner—you are with everything else.”

He helped position her arms as he explained the steps and the count. With the difference between their heights, her hand came more to rest on his upper arm than his shoulder. When he asked if she was ready, she still looked a little apprehensive, but nodded yes.

They danced slowly and awkwardly at first, just stepping in rigid time to get her used to the movements. Then when Miss Hresvelg muttered that this felt more like an army march than a dance, Hubert smirked, squeezed her hand, and swept her into a turn at twice the pace.

He was right: she learned fast. Soon they were whirling from one end of the ballroom to the other, her lavender dress flashing in the mirrored walls as they spun past. Miss Hresvelg yelped when he picked her up in a lift, which quickly turned into a giggle that she hid against his chest. Hubert himself felt a bit dizzy as he finally slowed them down, bringing the dance to an end.

“You were superb,” he told her.

“I was rusty,” she demurred. “If you asked for the minuet, I’d be able to follow much better.”

Hubert chuckled. “The minuet? You must’ve been born last century, miss; not even my grandparents danced that. I’ll have to catch you up to modern times.”

Miss Hresvelg glared up at him. “If you’re finished teasing me, may I point out that the basilisk has figured out how to roll its bag, and you might want to retrieve it before it escapes down the hall?”

He ran through the ballroom in time with her laughter.

* * *

Nearly three weeks in Remire Village, one man badly bitten, four more goats lost, the whole of Wilhelm Hall searched from top to bottom, and Hubert still hadn’t found the vampire. But he only truly grew concerned when he realized he wasn’t too upset about it.

Because he liked spending all that time with Miss Hresvelg. He liked walking with her at night. He liked answering her hundreds of questions and then being questioned on the veracity of the answers. He liked how she was completely unafraid to face down a banshee and how gently she helped the family of gnomes move their tunnel from the mansion greenhouse to the overgrown gardens.

He liked _her_ —her ruthless wit, her independent spirit, the way she always smiled behind her hand when you finally got a laugh out of her, like she was loath to surrender it. Even among his closest friends, Hubert could quickly become exhausted and long for solitude, but Miss Hresvelg seemed to know when to talk and when to relax in companionable silence. After whole days spent together, he was starting to feel a little sad when they had to retire to separate rooms.

But though his affection for her grew, so too did her illness. Her renewed energy that he’d noticed the first day she came with him to the mansion, after Kreiner was bitten, abated day by day until she was bed-bound once more. This time Hubert was worried enough that he dared to stay at her bedside, reading through her law books while she read through his nature journals.

“What’s your interest in all of this?” he asked her. “These texts are giving me a headache.”

Miss Hresvelg looked up. “I’m involved in…an intricate inheritance situation is the best way to describe it,” she sighed. “My father’s family comes from a long line of nobility, you see.”

Hubert nodded. “I noticed: your surname kept the ‘von,’ much like Arundel.”

“Yes. Quite the mark of status, in the old days. But since land borders and boundaries have been redrawn so often over time, our ancestral lands have been thrown into some disarray.” She frowned down at the illustration of a nereid. “My father set aside a certain territory that was to be mine when I came of age. But my uncle wrested control of it from me when I was younger. I’ve spent years trying to build my case to bring before—well, you could call it a local council of peers, I suppose. If they side with me, he’ll be ousted, and I will be granted free reign over the lands I’m owed.” She dropped her head against the pillows, her expression one of fierce longing. “I could finally settle down again. Not be forced to move from place to place.”

Hubert frowned. “Do you…do you not have a home of your own, miss?”

Miss Hresvelg seemed to shrink within herself. “Please, don’t look so worried. I have enough inheritance to support myself for quite a while,” she insisted quietly. “I could live out of inns like this for decades, honestly.”

“Well, shame on your uncle then, putting a young woman out of her rightful house,” Hubert growled. “I hope your council rakes him over the coals.”

The corner of her mouth curled up. “I hope so too. Now, Mr. Vestra, you owe me a secret about yourself. I’ve shared more of mine than I expected.” She folded her hands atop her blankets as though her bed were an over-large desk. “Who in your family inspired you to chase after magical beasts?”

Ah. Hubert knew it was only a matter of time.

“No one, miss,” he confessed. “My father disowned me when I changed my path of study in university from mathematics to cryptozoology. We haven’t spoken since.”

Miss Hresvelg looked at him for a long moment, stunned silent. The pity in her gaze was too much for Hubert to bear, so he turned back to the legal book, tracing the margins of a page.

“But I put my head down and finished my degree on my own,” he added. “A very generous professor became my financier, and introduced me to the Society too. So the Vestras didn’t gain another generation of accountants, but I’m happy with my life. I don’t regret my choice.”

“Nor should you.” Miss Hrsevelg reached out and waited for Hubert to realize she meant for him to take her hand. He pressed her slender fingers between his, hoping to warm them a little, and felt his pulse race a little when she seemed pleased by it. “If you hadn’t, you’d never have taken this job, and then we’d never have met. I think you made a splendid choice, my monster hunter.”

Hubert’s ears were burning. He made some joke back and released her hand, but for the rest of the afternoon he could hardly read a word.

* * *

Unfortunately, with Miss Hresvelg still sick the following day, Hubert had to go alone to Arundel’s and inform him that the timeline of his employment was nearing an end. If no vampire could be found, either Hubert would need another few weeks of payment to keep searching, or else return to Enbarr. The farmer was not pleased. After cooly bearing the brunt of his complaints for at least fifteen minutes, Hubert offered to take him to Wilhelm Hall to see the difficulties for himself.

But on the steps of the mansion, Arundel blanched and refused to go in.

“It’s perfectly safe, sir,” Hubert insisted. “If I haven’t been attacked after chasing a dozen creatures through the halls, I doubt today will be different.”

Arundel shook his head, looking up at the crumbling façade with trepidation. “The whole place is bad luck,” he muttered. “It was owned by one of my earliest ancestors. They said he sold his soul to the devil and the grounds have been cursed ever since.”

“Your grounds are infested with gnomes, but I highly doubt they’re cursed,” Hubert scoffed. “And if you have doubts on the basis of religious superstition, then here.” He took the St. Seiros medal from around his neck and placed it around Arundel’s. “This is a silver talisman. Vampires are among many species that cannot abide the touch of it, and the ‘devils’ should turn from the holy sign too, if that’s your concern. Your neck is now safe.”

Inside the house, Arundel still twitched at every little noise and movement, but he gradually gained more trust in Hubert as he was shown the silver net and the other tracking signs Hubert had marked. But he stopped cold in his tracks when they came to the portrait gallery.

“T-that’s him,” he stammered, pointing a trembling hand at the painting of the dark-haired man Hubert had cleaned of dust. “Volkhard von Arundel. I-I’ve seen enough—I want to leave.”

Hubert resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “The painting isn’t labelled, sir. If you’ve never been here, how do you know that’s him?”

“The purple eyes!” Arundel hissed. “The whole line nearly died out after the Insurrection era; he was the last to inherit them. Surely a naturalist can understand traits!”

Hubert felt no more warmly towards Arundel by the time they returned to the farm, but at least he’d prevented his pay from being docked. With the case looking so hopeless, they agreed that Hubert would finish the timeline of the initial contract and then be contacted only in the event that human attacks resurged. The vampire clearly had moved on to hunt elsewhere; with such infrequent feedings, the only other explanation was that it was starving itself, and Hubert doubted a creature of one hundred years would have such a bad sense of self-preservation.

Relieved to have a plan in place, Arundel offered to take Hubert for a late afternoon drink in the village. Hubert tried his best polite refusals, but it seemed that Remire hospitality was irrefutable. He was steered into a pub with the man’s strong workman’s hands on his shoulders.

They’d just sat down when Mrs. Kruger burst through the door.

“Mr. Vestra!” she sobbed hysterically. “It’s Tom!”

* * *

The young man was in a much worse state than Mr. Kreiner. His blood was still flowing freely when his grandmother discovered him just outside the kitchen door, and his arms were bruised with finger-shaped marks. The bite was on his upper shoulder, and it was much sloppier than any of the others, even those on the rams.

 _He fought back,_ Hubert realized. _And because the vampire was so weak, he’d almost won._

“I heard such a clamor downstairs, and I thought he’d dropped the dishes,” Mrs. Kruger cried. “But when I came down, the back door was swinging on its hinges and he was laying there, dying!”

Hubert wiped his bloody hands on his coat. “He’ll live. But I’m afraid I can’t stay to speak with the doctor. I have to return to Wilhelm Hall.”

“Now?” Arundel looked horrified. “By the time you get there, sir, the sun will be down! The vampire will regain its power again!”

“The vampire is a scared, starving animal.” Hubert stood up, looming over Arundel. “It was so desperate to eat that it couldn’t wait to find any easier prey. It’s been hiding from us all this time not lying in wait to attack, but in an attempt to escape and live another day. It’s gone to hide again now, and I’m certain I will find its nest tonight. It’s too weak to run any further.”

Mrs. Kruger paled. “At least wait until we can find more men, Mr. Vestra, and gather a party—”

“There’s not enough time, and a large, agitated group might get out-of-hand.” As he walked toward the door, Hubert paused. “Send them only if I’m not back by dawn.”

They made other protests, but Hubert only collected his satchel, re-buttoned his coat, and strode out of the inn.

* * *

Wilhelm Hall was different at night. With blue moonlight bleeding through the clouds, the house was transformed from a pitiful ruin to a foreboding temple, looking down upon Hubert to pass judgment as he crept inside. Since he and Miss Hresvelg had rehomed so many of the other creatures, the silence was thick, only broken by the creaking floorboards beneath Hubert’s feet. Even the surrounding woods were strangely silent. It felt as though the whole forest was holding its breath, waiting to see how this game of cat and mouse would end.

Hubert gathered up the silver net and dragged it to the bottom of the grand staircase. He chained it from one bannister to the other, blocking the way into the foyer.

“Hello,” he called as he started slowly up the stairs with a spell readied in his hand. “I think it’s time we met face-to-face, don’t you?”

Only his footsteps echoed in the quiet. But then—a low, powerful growl.

“I know now that the cellar isn’t actually your nest. The whole house is.” Hubert kept his hands out and at the ready as he continued up. “You’re been clever enough to keep away from this place during the day when humans are a risk, but return at night after feeding. Maybe you’ve even moved from room to room as we’ve cleared creatures out. You’ve really given me a challenge, I admit.

“But I think I have you figured out now.” He’d reached the top of the stairs. The growling had grown until its vibrations were almost tangible, making his hair stand on end. He faced the dark hall, his magic sparking in his hands. “So why don’t you show yourself?”

With huge, heavy steps, the creature emerged from the shadows. It was not a vampire.

It was a kulmking.

Its fur may have once been white, but now was mottled yellow, like a rotting tooth. Patches of moss clung to its muscled shoulders. One horn was shattered at the end, giving it one perfect, sharp spike and one jagged, just as deadly. Hubert couldn’t tell how old the blood coating its chin was, but he had the answer to why the many bones in the cellar had all been licked clean. A kulmking: a man-eating, centuries-old forest demon—Miss Hresvelg had been right all along.

Hubert vowed to tell her so, if he made it out alive.

He fired a volley of sparks at the kulmking, making it shriek and rear back from the light. He took his chance to turn and run, practically leaping down the stairs. The whole house shook as the beast roared and thundered after him in pursuit. Hubert aimed for the center of the silver net as well as he could.

When he was only steps away from running headfirst into it, he leaned right and flung himself over the rail.

The kulmking collided with the net so hard that the chains yanked the stair posts down. The clamor of metal and snapped wood and a huge body hitting the floor would have deafened Hubert had he not been dazed from the sound of his own impact against the ground floor. He’d landed hard on his shoulder, and now his whole right side was burning with pain.

He scrambled to his feet, but slipped on debris and wound up falling again. His shoulder throbbed as the kulmking snarled, writhing as it tried to claw free of the net. Hubert grit his teeth as he began shaping the spell to close the links. It was hard enough to concentrate through the pain, let alone hear the words of the spell above the noise of the kulmking’s thrashing, the rattling chains, the groans of the house as the furniture shook from the tremors. He could feel the net straining from the creature’s sheer strength. He doubled his efforts, feeling sparks dance along his arms from the magic.

It wasn’t enough. With the terrible _snap,_ the net broke.

The air was punched from Hubert’s lungs as he was thrown across the hall.

His vision swam as he tried to push himself up. He tasted blood in his mouth and felt the sting of cuts and scrapes on his face and hands. The kulmking was hunched low, staring at him with large yellow eyes, prepared to spring, and all Hubert could think about was the villagers of Remire finding a new set of bones in the cellar come morning.

_**Leave him be.** _

The voice was so loud and clear that Hubert jumped. The kulmking ceased growling, turning its huge head with confusion.

 _ **I know you’ve lived here a while, my friend.**_ When the kulmking shifted, Hubert caught sight of a small, upright shadow standing in the front entrance. _**But I think it’s time you moved on. I’ve decided I’d like my house back.**_

The kulmking’s nose twitched as it sniffed the air. It arched its back, hissing at the intruder like a wary cat. The air thrummed with tension, and even though Hubert could barely make out the newcomer’s shape, the kulmking’s behavior told him everything. This was a meeting of two predators.

Before he could blink, the newcomer darted forward in a charge, and the battle began.

The monsters moved so fast that it was hard to tell whose attack was whose. The kulmking roared and clawed wildly, jaws snapping on empty air where the newcomer had been only seconds before. Dust rained from the ceiling when they slammed into the walls. Hubert ducked just in time to avoid the kulmking’s whipping tail.

And in the fray, he finally caught a better glimpse of the newcomer: a woman in white.

She dodged and dived away from the kulmking faster than any ordinary human could. She caught its arms and wrestled it back with a strength that matched the beast’s. In the few moments where either creature paused, Hubert could see her panting for breath, sometimes even swaying a little on her feet. She was winning—but she was weakening.

But so was the kulmking. After a powerful tackle, it favored one back leg over the other, trying not to give away the injury. Its growls had lowered from thunderous to rumbling. It was on the defensive now, and with sudden clarity Hubert realized what needed to be done.

He called out as loud as he could, “Miss! It’s territorial! There’s no need to fight to the death! If you can force it out and back to the forest, it will submit!”

The woman didn’t reply. But on her next lunge, she went not for the kulmking, but for the silver net.

There was an agonizing howl as she picked it up, as though the links burned her. But with her great strength, she threw it over the kulmking, the force knocking it to the floor. It struggled, but had no more strength now to break free as she grabbed hold of the end and dragged it thrashing through the foyer, hissing for every second she had to keep the net in her grip.

With a mighty growl, she finally shoved the whole creature through the door. It tumbled down the steps in a heap.

And then with a whine, the kulmking lay quietly, until it slowly shook off the net and loped back into the woods with its tail between its legs.

His body ached to stand, but Hubert saw the signs and hurried to rush over. He just barely caught the woman before she fainted flat on her face.

Carefully lowering her to the floor, Hubert turned her over. Her breathing was shallow, her pulse rapid but skin cold as ice. The frenzied fight had ripped the sleeve of her nightdress at the seam, revealing the pale cap of her shoulder. Her chin and neck were still stained with trails of dried blood. Her hazy eyes were a vibrant violet.

“Miss Hresvelg?”

Her eyelids fluttered, gaze unfocused. Her grip tightened on his arms.

“Mr. Vestra,” she breathed, “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting my appetite. That monster took the last bit of energy I had from poor Tom.”

Hubert felt her pulse again. It was slowing, and quickly. “What will happen to you, if you don’t—?”

“To be honest, I don’t really know.” She laughed weakly. “I made such fun of your books, and yet I’m no vampire expert either. Some of us say that it’s like slipping into a deep sleep. My father was in such a state for decades until he finally died for good.”

She grasped his arms tightly, forcing him to lean closer. She looked so white and frail, like a torn paper doll.

“The kelpie,” she gasped, “the cockatrices, two hippogriffs, and your lucky four-headed dog. I’d appreciate it if you treated me as kindly as you did them.”

But Hubert shook his head. He was already wrestling open his collar.

“I’ll do you one better, miss,” he said, lifting her head up. “It’s only fair, after trespassing on your grounds.”

At first he felt only her breath puffing against his skin, the cold tip of her nose brushing the underside of his jaw. Afraid that she was hesitating, he cradled the back of her neck to press her more fully against his neck in silent encouragement. She groaned once—in pain? in relief?—and then finally she opened her mouth.

Hubert gasped as she bit down.

He tried to focus, to concentrate on the process of it: the fangs were not much different than a snake’s, and pierced through his skin easily. The stinging sensation that quickly grew to warmth and then numbness must be the effect of the venom. And surely there was a…scientific benefit to having his hair stroked as Miss Hresvelg slowly regained her strength, shifting until she was the one kneeling and he the one holding her for balance.

With each passing minute, he felt her body grow warmer as it pressed against his. His head felt blissfully foggy and wonderfully light. Miss Hresvelg’s bare shoulder was an anchor under his hand.

As black spots began to crowd his vision, he thought he heard her say, _**Thank you.**_

“Of course,” Hubert mumbled, closing his eyes. “The pleasure is mine.” And with that, he slipped under.

* * *

A woman was watching over him. She had brown hair and violet eyes, and wore a gown of vibrant red silk. She looked awfully familiar, but Hubert’s head felt like it was stuffed with wool and was having difficulty answering why. Then Miss Hresvelg appeared below her, and Hubert realized the first woman was only a portrait—the Miss Hresvelg of several centuries ago.

The living Miss Hresvelg gently brushed his hair from his face. “Sorry,” she said. “That first time I heard you walk towards the gallery, and I knew I had to move fast. I shouted for help first and threw a rock directly at the pixie nest second.”

It took a moment to find his voice again. Finally Hubert managed to croak, “So this is your rightful territory? The one your uncle stole from you?”

“The whole county, actually.” Miss Hresvelg shrugged apologetically. “We need large territories, after all, to make sure we don’t overhunt. My uncle has long given up on Wilhelm Hall, however. I used to camp here whenever I was in the area, for I was sure this village was small enough that he wouldn’t catch word that I returned. I doubt he’s even aware of his own descendants.”

“What changed, then? Why stay at the inn this year if the mansion was safer?”

Miss Hresvelg smiled—her first full, true smile, showing her sharp, gleaming teeth.

“Because this place was a run-down garbage heap full of monsters, Mr. Vestra,” she laughed. “Wouldn’t _you_ be more comfortable in a proper bed?”

She wanted to have him rest as much as possible, but when Hubert told her of the rescue party sure to come for him if he didn’t return to Remire by dawn, she reluctantly agreed to help him walk back. Renewed by his blood, she was as sure-footed as Hubert was wobbly. She insisted he hold tight to her arm and watch for tree roots as they moved through the woods, the moon gleaming low on the horizon.

“It’s only fair that you experience what it’s like to be fussed over,” she teased him. “Imagine now that a stony, hard-headed naturalist also forced you on this hike every night when you were only half-awake.”

“So the Guidebook was right: you’re nocturnal,” Hubert countered. “Were you trying to deflect my suspicions about garlic as well?”

She snorted. “Garlic is no more dangerous than any other human food. Eating a bulb of it wouldn’t kill me, but it also wouldn’t taste any better than eating dirt. And before you ask me about the blood of animals, I’d compare it more to hardtack: it keeps us fed and active, but there’s not much to be said for the flavor.”

“Then why were you starving yourself, miss? You fed here easily enough every time you came before.”

“When I heard that Mr. Arundel hired a vampire hunter, I held off hunting for fear you would figure me out. I planned on killing you myself to solve the problem, but…plans changed. I thought I could hold off with just one feeding—Mr. Kreiner—long enough until your contract expired. But I was weakening faster than I expected, and then I made the ill-fated decision to try poor Tom. I thought that his infatuation would make it easy enough to feed on him without putting him in thrall first.”

“Thrall?”

Miss Hresvelg wouldn't meet his eye. “You would probably call it an evolutionary advantage. It’s a sort of light hypnosis we use to put our prey at ease. I was, er, using it on you quite frequently before I decided to let you live.”

All the memories of his recent dreams came flooding back to Hubert. He was glad he had little blood to spare, otherwise he was certain he’d be twice as red as she was.

They reached the edge of the village just as the sky began to bloom with the pink light of dawn. Miss Hresvelg helped him over to a bench to rest for a moment, for as the sun rose, her energy would begin to ebb.

“This has certainly been a disaster,” Hubert couldn’t help but laugh. “Here I thought I’d have better luck finding a vampire than generations of better naturalists.”

Miss Hresvelg smirked at him. “Well you did, didn’t you? You even caught yours with your bare hands. Your Society may not believe such an outlandish account, though.”

Perhaps the idea seemed wise just because he was dizzy, or just because even blood-stained and rumpled, in the early morning sun, with no thrall to blame, Miss Hresvelg struck him as beautiful. Hubert couldn’t bear to keep the thought to himself.

So he offered, “They’d be convinced if I could present real evidence. If you’re looking for a place to stay in Enbarr, that is.”

Miss Hresvelg stared at him, and then shook her head. “You—you don’t mean that,” she said uncertainly.

He squeezed her hand. “Of course I do. You said you prefer having an invitation from someone you know, so I’m inviting you. To stay with me as long as you’d like.” At her shocked expression, he suddenly realized the implications of such a gesture, and tried to clarify, “But of course if you think we still don’t know each other well enough, then you’re well within your rights to refuse, and we can always—”

The rest of his words were lost as Miss Hresvelg leaned up and kissed him.

Hubert didn’t know how long it took for Arundel and his search party to find them there, nor what kind of impression they made on the townsfolk: clothes shredded and filthy, blood staining them both, and behaving very, very improperly on a public bench. But regardless of the gasps and stares, he managed to adjust his collar straight again and inform a stunned and pitchfork-wielding Mr. Arundel that Remire would no longer need to live in fear of any vampire attacks again.

* * *

Hubert insisted on seeing her to the train station even though they were to part ways. Miss Hresvelg had her council meeting, and he had to make sure Bernadetta hadn’t spoiled his plants into growing to the ceiling in his absence.

“You’ll be alright, won’t you?” he worried, angling her parasol to make sure she was fully in the shade. “Are you sure you don’t need to feed again before you go?”

Miss Hresvelg rolled her eyes. “I’ve managed well enough on my own for two hundred years now. I think I’ll be able to make it to Hevring County in one piece.” Her eyes glimmered as she ducked close for a moment to stroke one finger down the side of his neck. “And I don’t think you’re quite ready for a second round.”

Hubert found it difficult to swallow. “I-I will be. Next time. The Guidebook would, uh, benefit from a firsthand account, after all.”

Miss Hresvelg quirked an eyebrow. “Sir, are you really asking to be bitten for research?”

“Research is important,” Hubert insisted, even as his pulse hammered from the brush of her hand. “It’s how the field advances. And being research partners, you don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ Just ‘Hubert’ is fine.”

“Hubert.” She said it as though she were savoring the taste. In spite of the cool wind, he felt incredibly warm. “You’ll have to call me ‘Edelgard.’”

“Edelgard,” he repeated. As the train whistle sounded, he kissed her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Her answering smile was sharp and bright.

**Author's Note:**

> +5 reader points for each various monster you googled as it was mentioned in the house


End file.
